Can't You See? (USUK)
by hetaliaalfredfjones
Summary: Alfred is just your ordinary teen. He has his bullies, namely his cousin and the rest of his school. However, he has one friend by his side, Arthur Kirkland. As Alfred is constantly bullied about his weight, will it all get to his head?. This is an Eating Disorder Story, Mature and/or offensive language, and triggering subject. reader discretion is advised.
1. Chapter 1

This is an Eating Disorder Story, Mature and/or offensive language, and triggering subject. reader discretion is advised

"Ugh, I hate this." Alfred stated, making his third lap around the track. It was gym class, something that Alfred dreaded more than anything. Not because of the physical activity, but because of how many people that were able to see him in his gym shorts out, in public...sort of.  
"Why? Is it the amount of physical activity?" Asked Arthur pompously. Alfred lightly elbowed him in the side.  
"Haha, very funny dude." The American began, "No, it's because now is about the time when the jocks come over here to harass me about my weight, my "Ham thighs", the usual." Alfred sniffed, looking down at his feet. There was a silence between the two, as both had heads full of thoughts. Unaware of his surroundings, Alfred managed to haphazardly walk right into Allen Jones. The poor teen's stomach dropped a good 10 feet as he looked and saw who he bumped into.  
'Oh shit!' he thought aloud.

"Hey, watch it fat ass!" Allen yelled, his Brooklyn accent becoming all the more apparent. Allen shoved Alfred back, causing him to nearly fall on Arthur.  
Allen laughed,"Careful Pork-chop, you almost squashed your boyfriend."  
Alfred scattered to his feet. "He's not even my boyfriend."  
Arthur just looked to the side and blushed.  
"Aww, why not?" Allen asked, "Oh, that's right! How could I forget? You're a fat ass! You'll never be loved... by anyone... not your parents that abandoned your sorry ass, not my parents who took pity on you and took you in, not this pathetic fag next to you. NO ONE LOVES YOU! You're pathetic, a pathetic fat ass!" Allen shoved His victim again, causing him to fall once more. The Brooklynite laughed in his face.  
"You're so pathetic. What you gonna cry now. Disgraceful. I'm ashamed at the very fact that I'm forced to live with you, you fucking fat ass!" Allen kicked Alfred's leg and ran off laughing, "See you later Pork-chop."

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, attempting to help up his friend. Alfred struggled to his feet, "I'm fine..." He sniffled as he brushed himself off. The two walked off. However, Arthur noticed something was wrong. Alfred was walking with a limp. The Brit rushed back to his friend's side, allowing him to lean on his shoulder so that things would be a bit easier for the injured American.

Gym was soon over and the class was reconvening at the gate and lo and behold, The two friends finally arrived to silent chatter. Only a few insults were able to be picked up on, but they were hurtful.  
"Uh oh, looks like someone pulled a hammy!" One of the voices said. Another voiced answered the first one, "Hammy, more like a meaty. Haha, he's a fat ass!"  
Alfred looked down at his toes, hiding his face, now red from silent crying.

"How did this happen to you?" The kindly nurse asked while tending to Alfred's leg. It was bruised pretty badly. No wonder he was limping.  
"I was playing soccer with some other people in my class and one of the opposing team members happen to kick my leg pretty hard." The American fabricated. Arthur stood there silent, mentally face palming... he wanted to say something, but he couldn't... he was quite timid around others, excepting Alfred.  
"Ah, well... It looks banged up pretty badly. I'd ask if you could make it the rest of the day, but based on the way you were practically carried in here, I'd recommend that you just go home."  
The nurse phoned Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They were not able to take Alfred home, however, they told the nurse to allow him to go home with Mrs. Kirkland. The nursed called Mrs. Kirkland. About 10 minutes later, Alfred was wheeled out to her car with Arthur by his side.

Once he was inside the house, Arthur assisted Alfred to the couch. They just sat in silence, until the Brit broke it.  
"Why didn't you just tell her."  
"Tell who?" The American quizzed  
"The nurse."  
"Well," Alfred scratched his head, "I thought, 'no need to. I've got everything under control.' Cuz, you know. I'm the hero."  
"Some hero you are," Arthur muttered. "Alfred, you look like a sodding mess. Your leg is banged up pretty badly, and if Allen weren't your cousin, I'm pretty sure I would've had to carry your lifeless body off of the bloody field."  
"If you could've carried my fat ass off."  
"You're not even fat."  
At this point, Alfred left it alone.

Mrs. Kirkland came down the stairs with her hand bag.  
"I'm going to check on grandma Kirkland you two, there's food in the fridge if you get hungry... And make sure to catch up on your homework if you have any."  
"Okay mum." Arthur answered. Alfred just nodded, not wanting to ruin that family moment. With that, Mrs. Kirkland left.

"All make some food for us?" Arthur suggested with question.  
"Dude, you know you can't cook."  
Arthur was a taken aback a bit, " I can at least make soup or ramen..."  
"Okay, I'll take the ramen."  
The Brit's face lit up as he got to work. He went into the kitchen and prepared the food.

A bit later, Arthur came back with a bowl full of noodles. He set down the food on a TV tray right in front of Alfred. Alfred looked into the bowl, it didn't look potentially dangerous. After not hearing any complaints, Arthur walked off. He came back shortly later with a bottle of iced green tea, his personal favorite of all the iced or cold teas. He set the bottle down on the tray then sat down next to Alfred.

"So, how are the noodles?" The British teen had to ask. Alfred nodded his head sideways.  
"It's okay, a bit crunchy, but it's okay." This prompted the shy Brit to look down, his cheeks flushed red. "I-I'm sorry, if you don't like it...I can find something else...I-" Arthur was cut off by Alfred pressing a finger against his lips. Arthur was sent spinning. His heart was racing as his friend this.  
'How dare he be so damn attractive?!' the poor guy thought to himself.  
"It's fine, dude. I like it." Alfred started. The young Brit picked his head up and smiled as Alfred continued. "You know," Alfred started as he ate a bit more,"The crunchiness add good texture." This made Arthur laugh. He only laughed this way when he was with Alfred, other wise, he would be to shy to laugh out loud like this.

Out of the blue, Alfred's phone rang. To lazy to put it up to his ear to answer it, he put it on speaker.

"Hello?" The teen answered casually.

"Hey porkchop. "

Alfred's heart sped up its pace as he heard Allen's voice on the other end. 'Oh fuck!' He thought to himself?

"Where have ya been Pork Chop? I was gettin' worried." Allen stated, feigning fake concern. Arthur rolled his eyes so far they could've went to the back of his head.  
"That's absolutely ludicrous!" Arthur exclaimed, quite frankly fed up with Allen's bullshit. The Brit was hoping he'd go unnoticed, but what was done, was done.

"Aww, is that you're little, scrawny boyfriend? Tell him I said hello, Pork Chop."  
"He's not my boyfriend, Allen."  
"Eh, whatever."  
Arthur just blushed again. He couldn't decide if he should be angry or embarrassed.  
"Anyway," Alfred began, "What do you want?"  
"Ham, you wound me. Can't I just check on my not-as-cool, loner, fat ass, outcast cousin? Is that so wrong."  
"Yes, because I know you, Allen." Alfred started, a harsh bite becoming more apparent in his voice."What do you want?"  
"Well, nothing really."  
"Then why did you call me?"  
"I wanted to ask where you were."  
"I'm at a strip club."  
Arthur chuckled at Alfred's statement.  
Allen gasped, "Oh, you are so fucked. Wait till I tell my parents."  
"Chill dude. I'm at Arthur's." Alfred stated, aggravation heavy in his voice.  
"Oh. Well, I'll leave you two love birds alone. See you later fatso." Allen ended the call, hanging up. Alfred rolled his eyes and hung up as well.  
"I swear, he's annoying as all hell."  
"It's even worse because he talks to you like that."  
"Nah, it's fine, dude. He's always been an ass to me. You see, I've always been a fat ass, it's nothing new. I'm used to being teased about it...but I do admit, it does get annoying." Alfred stated stretching.  
Arthur leaned against his friend shyly. 'He is rather comfortable. I hope he never changes this.' The Brit thought, blushing.  
"Well, if it counts for anything, I think you're perfectly fine."  
"Well, thanks... but... it's not enough... no offense, but... I'll never be good enough for my aunt, my uncle... I wasn't even good enough for my parents. I "ate them out of house and home" and they couldn't take care of me anymore... so they left out the door one night. They left a note... but that was it." A tear pierced Alfred's eye as he reminisced.

"I am so sorry." Arthur said. Alfred just shrugged. "There's no use in it. What happens, happens."

Alfred had finished the food and had began to think to himself. 'Why did I allow myself to eat that? I obviously didn't need it. Damn it! I really need some self-control. I know what I'll do.' And so, the American began to plot in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred got home and the first thing he did was run upstairs (more like hobbling). He threw his backpack on his bed and he followed suit.

"Fuck my life." Alfred growled. He covered his face with his hands and rolled over so that he was laying on his stomach. He heard one knock at his door and then the bang of Allen opening the door with some kind of defensive tackle move. Alfred jumped and practically fell off his bed.

"What do you want, Allen?"

"Well, that was rude. I'm just watching out for my little cousin."

"Sure." Alfred said sarcastically, rolling his eyes

"Come on Pork Chop, don't be like that."

"Whatever."

"So, how's you're boyfriend?"

"Allen, I'm not gay. He's not my fucking boyfriend." Alfred growled

Allen couldn't resist teasing, "Aww, what happened. He dumped you because you're fat."

"What the fuck do you not understand?" Alfred asked, pissed off. He rolled over again, now looking up at his cousin. His cousin was shirtless. The first thought to go through Alfred's head was 'Damn, what does he do to fucking look like that?' Alfred was lost in thought. All he could do was stare at Allen's perfectly chiseled abs. His Biceps and Triceps would flex every time the Brooklynite would even do so much as move a finger to tap against the door he was leaning against. This was one of the many reasons he envied his cousin, an asshole albeit.

"You like what you see Pork Chop?" Allen uttered. A jest, surely. Alfred just shook his head, waking from his daze. "What?! Hell no!"

"Then, what are you looking at?"

"Nothing... just that stupid tattoo on your left pec." Alfred pointed out. Allen's tattoo was a picture of an orange, the mascot of the college he was getting a scholarship to for soccer, Syracuse University. New York.

"I'm surprised you know what a pec is Porky, and, FYI, this isn't just any orange. This is the very insignia that binds me to my future calling. Syracuse University. Soccer."

"Yea yea." Alfred stated fanning Allen's stupid soliloquy. "Now will you please get out of my room?"

"All right. All right, I'll leave you alone." Allen conceded. He backpedaled out of Alfred's room only to peak in once more.

"What now."

"No need to be hostile pork chop. I'm just letting you know that my mom said that dinner will be ready in 30 minutes."

"Ah, interesting." Alfred said, not caring. He wasn't very hungry after what had happened today and after what he had decided to do after eating at Arthur's.

"Yep. I'll, uh, come get you when it's ready." Allen said awkwardly. He walked out of the room again. He was hoping for a different response from his cousin. Not something as nonchalant as "Ah, interesting." Allen was starting to freak out a bit. He began to ponder.

' _What is that supposed to mean. Porky is always excited about dinner. Food in general. What does it mean. All he said was "Ah, interesting". That could mean about 20 different things.'_ Allen thought while making his way down the hall and downstairs. Something was going on with him.

Dinner time had begun in the Jones household. All was pretty normal. Mrs. Jones had made meatloaf for her and her boyfriend, and she had made a plate of veggie loaf for Allen. All was calm. The usual banter continued. However, despite all of this, something was still bothering Allen: Where the fuck was Alfred?

Was he upstairs in his room? Did he sneak out? Allen thought through these possibilities.

' _Well, it's not likely that he sneaked out. I would have heard his heavy ass footsteps. So he must be upstairs.'_ Allen thought. He didn't know why he was so worried. Perhaps it was the imbalance of the proverbial equilibrium of the household. As stated before, all was pretty normal. Alfred just wasn't there stuffing himself with food. In the end, Allen disregarded this for now. Why should he even care about his cousin. It's not like he cared before. Plus, The Brooklynite thought that in the end, it wouldn't kill his cousin to skip dinner, considering his current "condition". He scoffed, stifling a laugh at himself.

' _Why the fuck was I worrying?' He thought as he finished his food. 'He'll be fine. He can afford to skip.'_

Alfred stood up from his long session of self reflection. He walked over to the mirror in his room and looked in disgust. He hesitantly pulled up his shirt and prodded at his offending flesh.

"Damn." He stated, "I really need to do something about this. I mean, how could I allow this?" After seconds of further scrutiny, a tear came to his eye.

"Why can't I look like Allen? What does he fucking do to look like that?" The teen questioned himself and possibly God up above. He pulled his shirt back down in shame. He looked at his face in the mirror. His cheeks looked squishy. Too squishy in his eyes. Yet another tear fell down said cheek. His heart began to race as he rushed to the bathroom, attempting to be as silent as possible.

It had been about 3 weeks since Alfred had checked the scale. His stomach had dropped a good 10 feet, his hands were sweaty, his breathing had quickened. Nervous couldn't even describe how he felt as he cautiously stepped on. He could've sworn that he had broken it, considering that he heard a sound (A creak from the scale). After taking a deep breath, he looked down. At this point, he was distraught. He could barely see his feet; let alone the number on the "teller of truths"

He looked down to see a number which terrified him to say the least.

' _185-lbs'_ The scale read. The teen quickly stepped off. Then he stepped back on. No change. The same exact number. This haunted Alfred to the core. Distraught. Now curled up as a ball on the bathroom floor panicking, crying. Breathing quick and shallow. For that moment, he wished he were anywhere but in that house. Anything but the fat and ugly monster he believed himself to be. Anyone but himself. He desired a hug from Arthur, his only friend and ally on this planet. The hysteric teen felt a churning in his stomach. He felt his world spin. As spacious as people purported his stomach to be, it was not cast-iron. He quickly crawled over to the toilet and spewed. Out came everything he had eaten that day. Every time he thought he was done. Every time he tried to put the cap on his gag reflex, he had failed.

Finally, Alfred had run out of ammo for his vomiting. He slowly backed away from the toilet. He looked down at his grotesque creation. The very sight of it nearly caused him to hurl once more. He swallowed the urge to do so. He cleaned himself up, flushed the toilet and hobbled out of the bathroom, attempting to pull off as normal of a departure from the loo as possible.

Once in his room, he checked the time _7:30_. It was a bit early for your average teen to go to sleep on the weekend. At least, that's what Alfred thought. He stared at the clock. He wanted to stay up later... but he was just so damn tired. He projections had drained him of his energy.

"Fuck it!" Alfred exclaimed to himself. "I'm hitting the hay. I don't care if it's early."

The young American got ready for bed and checked his phone one last time.

' _No messages_ ' He repeated in his head. "Wow, I must be popular." He bit sarcastically. He threw his phone to the side in bitterness and curled up into a ball. This was his favorite of all sleeping positions. Alfred was fast asleep.

Allen came him with a sly grin on his face. "Hey Pork-" The jock began, only to see that his cousin was sleeping. He was shocked, but decided to leave it alone. He backed away from the door, closing it behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred woke up in pain, groggy, and most of all, hungry. The smell of breakfast in the air caught the teen's senses. The smell was enough to intensify his hunger 10 fold. He shot up out of bed, however, his excitement turned to hesitation as he remembered something vital. He wasn't allowed to eat breakfast. He slowly made his way to the bathroom. Dragging his feet along the ground, feeling the cold hardwood under them, Alfred had one idea on his mind as he entered the bathroom.  
' _I wonder what the scale will say.'  
_ He cautiously walked over and stepped on the scale. His heart was racing as he questioned whether or not he should actually look down. He mustered all of his dwindling courage he had and looked down.  
 _'184.5'_ The scale read. He stepped off. His heart felt broken. He felt as if he were stabbed and came to the shocking realization that he had been. He sighed and walked back into his room. There, he checked the mirror once again. He slowly pulled up his shirt and analyzed his body. He felt disgusted to say the very least as he prodded at his offending flesh. He was lost in a zone of being offended, so much so that he didn't even hear the loud knock on his door.  
"Yo, Alfred." Allen called only for his cousin to not respond. He tried again.  
"Hey! Pork Chop!" Still nothing. This time, Allen noticed what his cousin was doing. The Brookynite stifled his laughter as he walked over behind his cousin, humoured by the other's fixation. He placed his hands on the younger teen's shoulders.  
"Yo, Earth to Pork Chop." Allen raised his voice. Alfred jumped and hurriedly turned around and pulled down his shirt.  
"What's going on?" The Brooklynite asked.  
"Nothing!" Alfred squeaked out."What are you even doing?" He continued, changing the subject.  
"Oh, I just came to tell you that breakfast is ready."  
The younger's stomach dropped. How he would respond he didn't know how to respond. He was really hungry, but he didn't want to give Allen anymore ammo. Plus, wasn't he supposed to be skipping breakfast anyway? Alfred had finally decided.  
"Cool."  
"You comin' down or what?"  
"Umm..." the teen thought aloud, "I'm not hungry right now, I got up in the middle of the night and ate."  
"Really?" Allen grew a bit suspicious, "I didn't hear you, dude."  
"Yep...a whole box of cereal gone."  
"Damn." Allen muttered, "Ah, well then have fun wallowing in your own obesity pork chop."  
Allen stripped off his shirt in an effort to make his cousin just a little jealous as he walked out of the other's room.

' _What the Hell was that?'_ Alfred wondered, feeling slightly more offended. He eventually shrugged it off after he realized that it would be pointless to put too much thought into it. He checked his phone. _3 Messages._ He checked them. They were all from Arthur.  
 _7:00AM- Good morning. How's your leg?_  
 _7:15AM- Are you awake?_  
 _9:30AM- Are you doing anything today?_

Alfred responded to the texts.  
[I'm good. My leg is okay.]  
[And I don't think I'm doing anything today.]  
 _Well, would you like to hang out today?_  
[ _Sure._ What time?]  
 _I don't know. That's up to you.  
_ [In that case, I'll be there as soon as I can.]  
 _Okay._

Alfred quickly set down his phone and hurried down the stairs as fast as his one good leg and hurting leg could take him. He couldn't decide what hurt more, his leg or the overwhelming groaning coming from the stairs from his weight. He made it down to see his aunt, uncle, and Allen sitting at the table.  
"Excuse me...Aunt Amelia, Uncle Francis, may I go over Arthur's" Alfred shyly asked. Francis just looked up. Mouth full of food, he spoke.  
"Uh, sure Aloysius."  
"Um, it's Alfred." Alfred sheepishly corrected.  
"Sure thing kid." Francis took a break from stuffing his face. "Amelia, take this kid to his friend Oliver's house."  
"Um...It's Arth-" The teen tried correcting, only to be cut off by his aunt.  
"Sure, Frankie..." She then turned to Alfred, "Are you ready to go? Or do you want breakfast first?"  
"No thanks aunt Amelia, I ate a lot of cereal earlier." He stated.  
"Okay sweetie. Get dressed, grab your stuff then come back down. I should be ready by then."  
"Thanks aunt Amelia." Alfred replied. His aunt was probably his favorite person in that house. She wasn't like Allen, who would tease him every waking moment. Also, she wasn't like Uncle Francis, or "Frankie", as she called him. Francis always forgot Alfred's name, and to top that off, he certainly favored Allen. This was understandable, Allen was their son, but it was as if Alfred were completely invisible.  
Alfred hobbled back upstairs, took care of his hygienic matters, got dressed, got a little bag together consisting of notebooks, his charger, and pens. While packing, Alfred wondered if it was "too gay" to want to stay over Arthur's house for the night. They had had sleepovers in the past, but that was when they were younger. Would it still be the same? Or would it feel different? These were the thoughts going through the teen's head as he, unintentionally, packed night clothes, extra clothes for the next day, a small blanket, his Old Spice body wash, deodorant, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. Once he realized he had packed all of that, he shrugged. "No one will care if I stay the night" He stated to himself.  
He hurried downstairs and outside with Aunt Amelia. Once he arrived at Arthur's, he placed his stuff in his friend's room and sat down on the bed with him.  
"So," Arthur began slowly, "What would you like to do?"  
"Umm, I don't know."  
"Did you eat breakfast? We have pancakes left."  
Alfred quickly responded, "No, I'm fine. I ate at home."  
"Okay." There was silence as the two friends sat on the bed. Both began to lie down and stare at the ceiling in unison, Arthur's head on Alfred's stomach.  
 _'_ _He's so soft, but_ _I do wish he would eat.' Arthur thought, 'He's such a bad liar. It's not like it would kill him to eat something. He's too skinny.'_  
Alfred's stomach growled, bringing a blush to Alfred's face. _'I hope he didn't hear that.'_ The American teen thought.  
 _'He's too skinny. Much too skinny. I'll get him something to eat.'_ Arthur thought. He had very well heard his friend's stomach crying for food. It pained him to witness his friend, and the person he was deeply in love with, starving.

Alfred had closed his eyes, willing his hunger away. He didn't want any food. More importantly, he didn't NEED any food. However, the offer of the pancakes was messing with him. He felt his nerve dwindling as he began to open his mouth to tell Arthur that he had reconsidered those pancakes. Just as he was preparing to speak, a number flashed in his memory. The number reminded him that he shouldn't ask for those pancakes. That he shouldn't eat. That he's fat. That he doesn't need food, just hardcore discipline.  
He closed his mouth and ignored whatever hunger he had. He thought to himself to keep steady.  
 _'A fatass like me doesn't need food. I'll just ignore the pain until I'm perfect. Plus, dieting is about ignoring the temptations until you've succeeded, right?'_ Alfred continued to repeat this in his head until he had been overcome by residual fatigue. Alfred's stomach growled again, this time he had been in such a tired stupor, he couldn't think clearly on it.  
 _'I'm really worried.'_ Arthur thought, an ominous feeling beginning to grow in his own stomach, _'I'm sure he'll eat later.'_


End file.
